Worthy
by beestung2025
Summary: The amount of torture that Hermione withstood at Malfoy Manor at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange was the cause of admiration from all sides, but the consequences of such admiration went to lengths unknown. Eventual DM/HG; not Epilogue compliant. Mostly Post-War.
1. Admiration

_A/N: Have had writer's block for awhile, but this plot keeps circling back to me. Not sure how often I'll update, but it's essentially connected one-shots on Hermione, The Malfoys, and Bellatrix Lestrange._

* * *

Pain. There comes a time when you choose with how you deal with it. You can fight it. You can shove it down and try to ignore it. But Hermione knew that the best way to cope was to accept it. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it is there. And there it will be. Tears leaked from her eyes as she laid on the floor of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor, eyes glazed yet burning with an intensity that the occupants of the room marveled at.

 _Crucio!_

Hermione's hand twitched, crumpling into a fist before gracefully releasing, and her eyes closed briefly, before opening again and continuing her contemplation of the painting that hung on the wall. It was impressionist, but as it was done by a wizard, the strokes actually swirled and dabbled together, giving a more vivid approach to the art movement she adored.

Bellatrix tilted her head. The girl in front of her was no longer responding to her questions, having said she told the truth over and over and would not lie. Bellatrix's initial plan was to torture the filthy blooded girl to insanity but the obstinate girl simply wouldn't. If it weren't for her blood, she'd make an excellent Death Eater, or training asset. How is she not breaking? Bellatrix had easily broken minds before, but this mud blooded girl was unbroken and unbent. Bellatrix had to smile, for if it wasn't for her filthy blood she'd want this girl for her own. The girl was what every pureblood should dream to be— minus the filthy blood. Bellatrix could at least announce to the world the truth of the girl's blood despite her admirable qualities. She took out her favorite knife from her boot and cursed the blade with everlasting effect. The girl's wound would never fade and let everyone know exactly what she was, even if she could pass for more.

Hermione felt her left arm being tugged at and lazily turned her head away from the beautiful painting she was contemplating. Bellatrix grinned lopsidedly, with her disgusting teeth on display, making Hermione shudder. Being raised by dentists, she simply couldn't bear to see teeth in such disarray. She registered a soft snort of laughter being stifled in the background, and a flick of her eyes told her that Draco Malfoy had used his occlumency skills and was peering into her current consciousness. Hermione closed her eyes and thought "Malfoy, it's quite rude to intrude on one's private thoughts" and when she opened her eyes again, her mask of stone unchanged, she thought she she saw a ghost of a smirk. With his parents flanking him, she could see they were trying to hide the curious admiration of her. A new, sharp pain occurred and Hermione turned her eyes back to the woman hunched over her, scrawling a word with a knife into her arm, marking her like a fucking Death Eater. Mudblood. As if the word held any meaning anymore. Hermione accepted the pain of the knife, her right hand balling into a tight fist, before releasing and even starting to drum on the floor like she used to do on the tables in the library while waiting for Harry or Ron to finish something they were drawing out ridiculously slowly.

"Your handwriting is atrocious. I should have written it myself." Hermione heard herself say, causing Bellatrix to pause, curiously, and the Malfoy family to stifle laughter.

"You are marked forever as what you are, it's not meant to be pretty" The woman with the terrible teeth spat.

"That's fine, but even I could do a better job"

"Here, Mudblood, take the knife. Carve into your flesh what you are. Imperio!" Bellatrix shoved the knife into Hermione's hand, accidentally scraping her own finger on the blade. Barely even a drop of blood was drawn, but Bellatrix didn't notice— she was focused on maintaining her curse which Hermione was easily shrugging off, but still doing exactly as desired. Hermione wrote the word over again, in a more legible and steady script. Bellatrix was impressed; she knew the girl was in more control of herself than she should be, but she followed the command and then dropped the knife on the floor between them. As a reward for following through so well, and also for the withstanding of the brutal torture that had fractured so many other minds, Bellatrix vanished the first mutilation on Hermione's arm.

"You've done well, Mudblood. If not for your birth, you would have been worthy of the House of Black. It's almost a waste that I will have to break you." Bellatrix found herself saying, readying herself for another round of torturing the girl.

"Tell that to your Aunt Walburga's portrait. What a bitch." Hermione smiled lazily, turning her head away to look at the painting again. "Mrs. Malfoy, I must say you do have excellent taste in decoration. May I enquire as to the artist of this exquisite painting?" A choked noise came from the corner of the room where the Malfoys stood and Bellatrix slapped Hermione across the face.

"Silence girl, insolence is unbecoming" Mrs Malfoy's reply floated over to Hermione, the quelled humor and snark evident. She sounded so much like her son; he must have learned it from her. Hermione smiled her lazy smile, the one that accepted everything that was happening to her at the moment, and apparently irritated her tormenters. All the more reason to do it.

 _"Crucio!"_

Bellatrix, for the first time in her life, was having a hard time maintaining her hatred and desire to hurt the victim at her feet. How could she be so calm? How did she keep sane when so many of her betters cracked and their minds shattered beyond repair? She wanted to know more than she wanted to hurt, which caused conflict for her curse's effectiveness.

Hermione could smell the change before she saw it. The door to the dungeons had opened, which meant that Harry and Ron were escaping. She was going to have to let go of her calm acceptance if she was going to make a run for it with them. She only hoped that her body would be able to follow the will of her mind at this point. As she let go of her acceptance and began to fight against the pain, which was surprisingly less than when the torture began, Hermione started screaming again. The occupants of the room jumped in surprise at the development, fixated on the change in Hermione, drawing attention away from the rescue that was about to happen. When Harry and Ron burst into the room, there was complete chaos. Hermione used the last of her strength, fortified by her will, to take Bellatrix's wand in the first moments of surprise and confusion before hurling herself towards her best friends, who caught her and they all disapparated with a pop.

It was after they arrived at Bill and Fleur's safe cottage that Hermione saw their savior was Dobby, and that Bellatrix had thrown her remaining weapon, the knife, deep into his chest. Hermione clung to Ron as he half carried her into the cottage, yelling for someone to help him, to heal Hermione. The carving on her arm would never be healed, she knew, and being honest with herself in that moment, she was rather proud of it. She carved it, she withstood the torture, and she knew, she somehow just knew, that the Malfoys and Bellatrix were in awe of her. Mudblood or not, she was not just their equal, but better because of her strength. She was admirable in their eyes whether they could admit it or not. She was marked, by her own hand, and she viewed the slur with pride. She was a mudblood and she was better than her torturers. Hermione smiled lazily as she was settled onto a soft bed and someone tipped dreamless sleep potion down her throat.


	2. No More War Stories

The first week back at Hogwarts was difficult for Hermione. She returned because she wanted to take her NEWTS. She returned to find closure after the battle. She returned mostly for the library. Hermione wondered if there were any public lending libraries in the wizarding world. Perhaps, perhaps that's what she'll do after Hogwarts— the Ministry made no secret they wanted her. Perhaps she could start a public library through them. Create her own department. Harry and Ron were quick to take on the Minstry's offer, deciding they wanted to be Aurors. But Hermione had enough fighting. She was done. There was no romance in war for her. Ron hadn't taken it so well when she decided she couldn't continue anything romantic with him. There was a brief period they could have been childhood sweethearts, but despite being barely of age, they were no longer children. And that budding romance was one of the many casualties of war, of the Battle. No, she was done fighting, and felt terribly alone for it. Everyone wanted to hear and share war stories, and keep up the fervor they romanced themselves with after the victory. It was a way of coping with the loss that accompanies victory. The dead are omnipresent with them. Everyone lost someone. Even with victory, there was significant loss. War stories were not something Hermione wanted to participate in. Hermione found herself on the verge of 18, unbearably older than her years.

The Hog's Head was quiet and peaceful, exactly what Hermione desired. A few customers, but the younger crowd stuck to the Three Broomsticks as they always did. Aberforth still ran the bar, was still a cranky old man. He didn't like war stories either. None were told within his hearing. Hermione sipped her butterbeer and wondered about ordering something stronger next. A voice from a few seats away grabbed her attention. Draco Malfoy ordering his own butterbeer.

"Malfoy." Hermione greeted him with a nod. The boy forced too early into manhood looked at her carefully before returning the nod and a curt "Granger." Draco was exonerated at his trial for his youth and lack of active participation in the war crimes. Aside from letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts and being an unknowing participant in Dumbledore's plan for his own death, Draco hadn't actually done much. Snape had seen to that before he died, and privately encouraged Draco's desire to slip healing potions to younger students and finding ways around actually performing unforgivable curses the previous school year. The bottled memories that were found in Snape's home were crucial in his trial.

Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, was also exonerated by Harry's testimony, as the one who lied to Voldemort that Harry was dead when they were gathered in the Forbidden Forest. She was mostly a puppet used by Voldemort to ensure loyalty from the Malfoy men. Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to a year in Azkaban for his previous crimes, and then house arrest for another five years after. He didn't participate much in the second war, unless forced under threat of his family being tortured. Azkaban at least had improved after the war, when the Dementors no longer guarded and humans maintained the warding spells— which kept both prisoners and guards apart and from harming each other. Hermione herself had devised the wards, and the idea that no one should be able to harm each other. She didn't want any more fighting. And as the mastermind behind the 'Golden Trio' as the media dubbed her, as well as a bonafide war heroine, she was able to ingratiate herself with those who were devising how to restart Azkaban as the prison it was supposed to be. That was how Hermione spent her summer, while Ron dealt with the press and Harry testified in the courts for the war crimes trials.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised that you came back." Malfoy said, surprising himself that he was talking to Hermione.

"I want to finish school. I'm not a dropout." Hermione returned, looking up from her bottle and directly into Draco's silvery gray eyes.

"I would expect no less, when you put it that way." Draco chuckled and sipped his drink.

"And you? You're back as well. I'm a little surprised as well. I thought you would be happy to be free of here." Hermione stated, with a hint of defiance.

"I'd rather be here than the Manor. And I would rather like to finish my education as well. I still am hoping to beat you in Potions." Draco didn't back down.

"I will appreciate the challenge. But all the same, I will maintain my first standing in all my classes."

"You skipped last year, and I am technically repeating the year. I think you will find yourself more than challenged." Draco smirked and Hermione smiled back gleefully.

"Good. Don't change." Hermione sighed. She caught Aberfoth's attention before sliding over a seat to sit next to Draco Malfoy.

"Shot of fire whiskey to seal the deal?" She asked.

"Deal?"

"You are to challenge me in Potions."

"Deal. Two shots of fire whiskey on my tab please." Draco placed the order with Aberforth, who placed out glasses and poured the liquor.

"I can pay for our shots, it was my idea."

"You said don't change. Therefore, since you were in my drawing room and weren't offered a drink, I rather owe you one."

Hermione laughed at the twisting of logic around what actually happened. She was worthy and proved herself in that drawing room, even if it had been torture by his insane aunt. She couldn't find it in herself to be angry with him for bringing it up.

"I can agree to that." Hermione grabbed her shot, nudged the blond wizard to take his, and they clinked glasses before downing the fiery liquor.

"Would it be rude to ask why you're here and not at the Broomsticks like everyone else?" Draco asked, after a silence had settled between them after their drink.

"Not rude. I just…" Hermione sighed. She looked over, seeing his inquisitive look, with the tired, emptiness clouding the edges— a feeling she felt herself. "They all want to hear war stories. I'm done fighting. No more."

"I understand." Draco looked at the empty glasses. He ordered more firewhiskey for them, but this time to sip, not shoot. And a better brand than the well used for shooting. "Two fingers each please, Ogden's Finest Aged." He asked Aberforth, who readily complied without comment or judgement. That was the great thing about the Hog's Head and Aberforth Dumbledore— there wasn't any judgement here. Draco felt too guilty and branded to ever return to the Three Broomsticks. Despite Aberforth having been on the other side of the war from Draco, the man passed no judgement on him. Like Hermione. Somehow the witch wasn't holding his crazy bitch of an aunt and inactivity against him. She saved his life during the Battle, she was tortured in his home, and yet here she was, drinking with him. And he'd only ever previously said horrible shit to her.

"I don't think I ever wanted to fight. I was just shoved in when my eyes were closed, and by the time I could open them, I was trapped." Draco looked into his glass of liquor, as if it may hold the answers.

"I understand. I was shoved in too." Hermione looked right at him, and Draco eventually met her gaze.

"No more war stories." She said.

"No more war stories." Draco smiled, and it was returned. They sipped in silence for awhile.

"I'm sorry for being a shit when we were younger. You never deserved it. I—"

"It's okay. I get it. I was a total swot and goaded you half the time anyways. Or one of us would."

"The Golden Trio" Draco smirked as Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, something like that. I came out of it all stronger. I just… Normal isn't possible, but I'm just done with fighting." Hermione sighed.

"I think you were always this strong, you just happened to be tested in ways no one should." Draco held Hermione's gaze, his silver gray eyes taking in her amber brown.

"Yeah." She knocked back the last of her drink and Draco followed suit. They paid their tabs in silence.

"So, Potions. I'm gonna kick your ass, Hermione." Draco held the door for her as they left the pub.

"In your dreams, Malfoy!" Hermione laughed, reveling in his usage of her given name. Her left arm tingled, and she wasn't sure if it was the scar or the liquor. Whatever it was, she felt that she'd finally found her place in the wizarding world. She had nothing to prove anymore, and it was wonderful.

The two headed back to the castle, bantering about classes and who would beat whom, forgetting for a blissful moment the circumstances that allowed it to happen.


End file.
